Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
ROMAN
Damn. That woman fucking unravels me. I had to grip the doorframe when I overheard her in her cabana—laughing, actually laughing—while making a date with Blake Walsh.
WALSH. The same degenerate I dragged out by his designer collar last night, threatening to have him arrested.
The same entitled prick who thought my hundred-year-old koi pond was his personal urinal. And she's batting those lashes at him?
My jaw clenches so hard I taste metal. I need Caspian's face to pound into a punching mitt right now, but he's up in San Francisco babysitting some gym opening.
Goddammit. My blood is scorching through my veins like jet fuel.
First my father showing his face, then Max showing up, and now Lilith—LILITH—giggling with Walsh?
The drywall won't survive the night. My fist is already twitching for it.
I get to the resort and find…Serafina. Sera fucking fina.
She's in the lobby, leaning against the front desk, one manicured finger tapping impatiently on the polished marble.
Her white Valentino sundress hugs curves that belong on a yacht in Monaco, not my lobby at 2 PM on a Tuesday.
Blonde hair cascades down her back like liquid gold, catching the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Six feet tall with a gorgeous natural rack, legs for fucking days and a face that would make Margot Robbie jealous.
Every man in the vicinity keeps stealing glances while pretending not to.
She's definitely an goddess come to life, complete with that ice-queen expression that says she knows exactly what she's worth.
And I have zero fucking interest in her.
Sorry Caspian. Know she's your sister but no.
And why is she here? She owns a string of hotels herself—glass towers in financial districts with marble lobbies, where the rooms are $1,000 and up.
They don't compete with mine, though they're all five-stars.
Her hotels cater to businessmen who need a desk and Wi-Fi, while my oceanfront resorts welcome those same men when they're ready for flip-flops and family time.
Shouldn't she be somewhere else right now, in the middle of the fucking day?
"What are you doing here?" I ask her, my voice echoing slightly in the vaulted ceiling.
She shrugs, the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist catching the light.
"I have a reading with Lilith Sydney today. Heard she's the best around. Want to check it out for myself. Caspian told me about her.” Then she turns back to Noah, my front desk concierge, whose eyes are popping out of his skull. “Talk to you later, Noah,” she purrs. Then she looks at me. “And you too, Rome. We should catch up.” And then she leaves, every man’s head turning as she glides out the door towards Lilith’s cabana.
Goddammit. If Sera starts any drama, I won't hesitate to have security escort her out. Let her cry to her 50 million Instagram followers—I couldn't care less. My jaw clenches as I remember our disaster of a relationship.
But something's off. I don't trust her sudden appearance.
I head down to the beachfront cabana where Lilith conducts readings when the weather permits. As I approach, Sera's voice drifts through the open windows.
"So you've got your eye on Roman Kensington.
" Her tone drips with condescension. "Just so we're clear—he and I were engaged.
I'm only telling you this because, well, a psychic should know these things, right?
Though I'm surprised you're not working one of those late-night hotlines.
The pay must be better than this... quaint setup.
Roman would never take someone like you seriously anyway. "
I curl my fingers into tight fists. Everything in me wants to barge in there and drag Sera out by her designer heels, but I hold back.
Wait. Breathe. How the hell did she find out about Lilith?
Oh, right. Casp let it slip. I should be pissed, but even my best friend screws up sometimes. I'll let this one slide.
"You've misunderstood," Lilith replies calmly. I hear cards sliding against each other. "I have zero romantic interest in Mr. Kensington. He's my employer, nothing more. I'm certain someone of your... caliber would have much better chances with him. You have nothing to worry about from me."
That's it. I'm ending this bullshit now. I storm into the doorway of the cabana, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth might shatter. "A reading, Sera? Bullshit." My voice cuts through the air like a blade. I shoot a glance at Lilith, who's staring at the floor as if her life depends on it.
My blood is boiling, pounding in my ears, but I can't pin down which part of this clusterfuck is making me want to put my fist through a wall.
Is it Serafina's transparent lies? Her goddamn audacity to think she can snap her fingers and I'll come running back?
Hell would freeze over first. Or is it that Lilith's denial felt like a knife to my gut?
The way she spoke to Sera sounded so convincing—too convincing.
Like there wasn't a single spark between us.
Like I've been drowning in feelings for a woman who feels absolutely nothing in return. I'm marooned on an island again, just like with my brothers. And goddamn it, I’m tired of feeling like I’m on a deserted island.
Sera's voice slithers through the room like a viper.
"Roman," she says, her red lips curling into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"I was just explaining to your little card-reader that she's swimming in waters too deep for her.
Your world devours hers. Different planets entirely.
When people cross those lines, someone always ends up destroyed.
But she already knows this, don't you, darling? "
Lilith sits frozen, her fingers motionless on her deck, all color drained from her face.
Of course Serafina terrifies her—Sera's presence is a fucking hurricane in human form.
Six feet of runway perfection with a bloodline so blue it makes royalty look common.
Vanderbilts and Rockefellers in her family tree.
The kind of woman who's never heard the word "no" and wouldn't recognize it if she did.
My chest constricts watching Lilith shrink under Sera's gaze, cornered like prey. But the knife twists deeper knowing Lilith just denied everything to Sera—denied us. Oh, what am I thinking, “us.” There is no “us.” That’s the whole fucking problem.
I swallow the words rising in my throat.
I won't chase. I won't make myself pathetic trying to extract feelings Lilith doesn't have.
She's made it crystal fucking clear: whatever I thought was between us exists only in my goddamn imagination.
I pin Serafina with a steely glare and jerk my head toward Lilith, who still won’t meet my eyes. “Sera,” I spit out, voice low and raw. “Let’s go.”
Serafina’s lips curl into that victory grin—she’s rattled Lilith to her core.
As we back away, I spot a line of gleaming VIPs queued outside Lilith’s cabana, guests clamoring for her tarot readings.
It’s absurd how these high-rollers—people who make more before breakfast than most people make in five years—flock to have their futures divined.
Maybe I should put a tarot deck into every resort’s gift shop.
But Lilith’s gift goes deeper: rumors say her predictions actually come true.
Could she really be the genuine article?
I’ve always mocked psychics, but damn if my skepticism isn’t wobbling.
We hit the lobby and I’m ready to blast Serafina off my property like a pigeon. “Get the hell out,” I growl, finger aiming at the front doors where her black Jag—she parks it smack in my loading circle—gleams like a trophy. “And don’t fucking come back.”
She only smirks. “Rome,” she purrs, stepping closer, “hate and love are two sides of the same coin, remember?” Her fingertip drifts to my lips. Cold and feather-light. “We’ve always been fire.”
My jaw clenches so hard I can taste blood.
Fire—yeah, that scorching agony that burned me alive the last time we tangled.
We were wildcats, slashing at each other, claws sunk into flesh we both refused to surrender.
I won’t let her venom seep into me again.
She might’ve forgotten those nights of raw lust and ruthless fights, but I replay every scar in brutal detail. She needs off my turf, now.
“Out,” I bark, jabbing again at the Jag. The nerve of her—treating my circle drive like her personal valet zone. She could’ve handed the keys over, let my valet park it, but of course that would be an inconvenience. And inconvenience is a sin I know Serafina never commits.
She glides to her Jaguar, smooth and infuriating. “See you Saturday night,” she calls over her shoulder. “At your gala.”
Fuck. Who the hell put her on the guest list? Oh right—she’s on the Kensington International board, having seduced granddad with her beauty and charm, so she’s untouchable. Thanks, Granddad. I’m stuck with her forever.
I steel myself—yes, I’ll go to the gala.
My brothers have been hammering me with messages in our group chat at three in the fucking morning—Kalen’s insomnia has him pinging everyone at ungodly hours.
Every new message ping fuels my urge to tell them all to shove it.
But there’s a reason I’ll drag my ass to that ballroom: Lilith will be there with Blake Walsh strutting by her side, and I’m not about to let them slip under my nose. That’s the only reason.
Pathetic.